By most calendar keepers, this reviewer is a latecomer to the progressive rock phenomenon known as Porcupine Tree. Many of the UK act rsquo;s ldquo; U berfans, rdquo; as bandleader/founder Steven Wilson refers to them, have been on board long before my introduction ndash; some of them for close to 20 years. The 2000 album Lightbulb Sun and the 2002 breakthrough In Absentia were my entr e es to their powerful combination of rock, dreampop, Pink Floyd-like psychedelia and ambient/downtempo grooves.
Thrilling can rsquo;t begin to describe those discoveries, even now.
The band rsquo;s next album Deadwing, with its harder edge and driving, angular metal grooves, was a departure that caused some consternation in fan circles. The dread of the band veering into heavier, Opeth/Tool baroque metal territory and that their signature, cerebral psychedelics might take a back seat came swiftly.
But the concept album rsquo;s intensity matched Wilson rsquo;s grand, elegant vision and Deadwing (and its accompanying tour) was eventually heralded as genius. Which it is.
All of which brings us to Fear of a Blank Planet, Wilson rsquo;s concept album nod to Public Enemy rsquo;s Fear of a Black Planet and the novel Lunar Park by author Brett Easton Ellis.
Many of the lyrics on Planet are homage to the latter-mentioned, with Wilson lamenting the loss identity, purpose and connectivity in an all-consuming media culture. The album melds all of Wilson rsquo;s sonic fetishes and thoughts together deftly; the interplay that he and bandmates Colin Edwin (bass), Richard Barbieri (keyboards) and Gavin Harrison (drums) share glows radiantly on this latest effort.
Wilson and company delivered the entire Planet oeuvre during their first of two sets at the House of Blues in Cleveland last Friday night.
Along with longtime collaborator/touring guitarist John Wesley in tow, Porcupine Tree delivered all of the sonic peaks and valleys of Planet in virtuosic precision. Illustrating the album rsquo;s unholy communion of prescription medication, technological alienation and firearms, the band fortified the songs with filmmaker Lasse Holle rsquo;s rococo, film-noir imagery. It amounted to a stadium-sized concert packed into an intimate little club.
And it rocked.
The first set offered note-perfect renditions of ldquo;My Ashes, rdquo; ldquo;Sentimental, rdquo; ldquo;Way Out of Here, rdquo; ldquo;Sleep Together rdquo; and the epic ldquo;Anesthetize, rdquo; which clocked in at an even-handed 18-minutes. Wilson alternated between guitar and keyboards, sharing the vocal duties a few times with Wesley ndash; a chap who is basically ldquo;adjunct faculty rdquo; for the band, but proves time and again that he is far more.
Wesley rsquo;s guitar solo on ldquo;Anesthetize rdquo; was filled with shimmering sonics. And the Edwin/Harrison connection underpinned the entire creation with focused poise.
After a 5-minute break, the band returned with the title track from Lightbulb Sun, and a run of ldquo;hits rdquo; from their more recent history including ldquo;Open Car, rdquo; ldquo;Gravity Eyelids, rdquo; ldquo;Blackest Eyes, rdquo; ldquo;Trains rdquo; and an encore rendition of ldquo;Halo.
rdquo; Rounding out the set were ldquo;Half Light, rdquo; a gorgeous ldquo;Drown with Me rdquo; and ldquo;Sever rdquo; ndash; all which featured lush layering by the always-inconspicuous Barbieri ndash; and the wickedly delightful ldquo;Mother and Child Divided. rdquo; In all, it was hard not to be completely engrossed by the performance, imagining what else Wilson is capable of, and wondering when the band would return.
And frankly, that seldom happens to this reviewer with rock concerts these days.
Opening act 3 (not to be confused with that 80s prog offshoot of Emerson, Lake and Palmer) was a stellar surprise. The Woodstock, New York quintet is audio equivalent of Superman ice cream ndash; a swirling blend of progressive metal styles punctuated with singer/guitarist Joey Eppard rsquo;s proficient and remarkable ldquo;flamenco/slap rdquo; guitar technique. They look like that bunch of dudes who jam out in your neighbor rsquo;s basement, but rest assured, they sure don rsquo;t sound like them.
Odds are good that big things will happen for this Metal Blade Records outfit.
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